


The Night Before

by The_Lonely_has_always_had_me



Series: The Third Law of Fluff [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Brief instance of homophobia, But more that Jon is fine with himself and tired of others not being, Canon Asexual Character, Drunken heroics, Elias makes a brief appearance, I turned the fluff up to 11 in this one, M/M, Minor female oc - Freeform, Sasha is the perfect wingman, Somewhat internalized acephobia, Tim is...trying, Will factor into this one more, early season 1, fluff as a coping mechanism, jon pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me/pseuds/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me
Summary: “Is it that obvious?”“To someone who’s looking, glaringly so.  You practically have little hearts dancing around your head when you think no one is watching you stare at him.”Jon’s cheeks flushed darkly.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  I do not stare at him.  Hell, I try not to be in the same room with him any longer than absolutely necessary.”“Why?”  Her expression softened a little.  “You have a reason to want to be around him now.  Things could be better for both of you, and instead you are hiding in here.”-Or- The world is a dumpster fire, but it's all nice and cozy in this pile of fluff.  I'm using soft JMart as a coping mechanism and sharing if anyone would like to join me.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Third Law of Fluff [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956958
Comments: 34
Kudos: 282





	The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> Series Title: Newton's 3rd Law states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So for every bit of angst and feelings I catch for IRL Mr. Sims canon, I'm going to create reactionary fluff. And you know to just the world in general.
> 
> Chronologically, this piece comes before The Morning After (as evidenced by my oh-so-inspired titles), but it was written to be read second. And again, not explicitly no powers/no Fears, but that's where my head was while writing it. You guys, this thing is so self-indulgent, I literally can't even tell if the damn thing is any good, or if it is designed just to scratch all my trope itches. But again, I'm not sure that I care. Writing this didn't just keep me sane for the past month or two, but I also genuinely had fun with it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and take care of yourselves. :)
> 
> Note: Edits done to fix some typos I somehow missed during proofreading this whole thing at least 20 times (only to spot them the moment it was posted). Also, I'm sorry about the extra spaces around some of the italics. They aren't in the original text and appear when it gets converted to be posted. So I can't take them out.

Jon froze when the knock echoed through his office. He looked to the clock in a panic, but no, it was just past noon. Too early for the next cup of tea to arrive. He was still frantically looking around his desk for something he could pretend to be utterly absorbed in so that he wouldn’t have to look at Martin when the door opened.

“Hey, Jon. Do you have a minute?”

He repressed the sigh of relief when Sasha peeked in through the opening.

“Of course.” He arched an eyebrow when she closed the door behind her. An idea occurred to him that made his stomach sink. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it, but he was still disappointed. She took her time crossing the room and settling into the only other chair, smoothing her skirt and clasping her hands loosely in her lap before she looked up at him, which gave him plenty of time to ensure his expression was carefully neutral. “What can I do for you, Sasha?”

“You’re aware that Tim is having a birthday party at the pub tonight?”

It was so far from what he’d been expecting that for a few moments all he could do was stare at her blankly. “I am…” he started cautiously.

“You will be attending.” Her tone made it clear that this was more of an instruction than a question.

“I hadn’t really intended to. A friend has asked me to go with her to an event-” In truth, he’d planned to use each affair to beg off of the other and attend neither. A quiet Friday night at his flat sounded much preferable to watching Georgie sit on a panel with a bunch of ‘ghost hunters’ or spending hours in the same room with Martin while alcohol was involved.

“Cancel it. You are coming out tonight, and you are going to have fun.”

“Sasha...you can’t exactly order me to do anything- especially to have _fun._ ”

“The hell I can’t.” Her usually witty and overall pleasant demeanor had been replaced with something stern and calculating. For a moment, he was reminded strongly of Gertrude in the few interactions he’d had with her before her abrupt retirement, and he felt that stab of insecurity again. It felt so remarkably like he was sitting on the wrong side of the desk. “Jon, you’ve had this job for three months now, and you’ve made some real progress with the Archives. But you’re a shit boss, and you know it. You’re going to fix some of that tonight. You’re going to spend an evening with us, and you’re going to remind us that you are actually a decent human being under the snark and criticism and ridiculous work ethic. You’re going to be pleasant and downright fucking friendly if you can manage that. Maybe if you do all that, you might just have some fun too, but even if you don’t, you’re certainly going to pretend like you are.” 

Whatever stoic expression he’d managed had crumbled by the time she had finished. “Is it truly that bad?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. For Tim and me, mostly just annoying more than anything, but for Martin-” Jon flinched, and she pursed her lips. “You’ve been awful to him. Yes, there are a few areas he needs to improve, but making him so nervous he can hardly breathe when you’re in the room is not the way to accomplish that. Everyone adores him, Jon; seriously, he’s like a damn Golden Retriever. And yet, somehow you are the only one that had no problem being cruel to him.”

“I haven’t said anything in weeks-” Jon started weakly.

“You haven’t apologized either though. And don’t think he hasn’t noticed that now you just pretend he doesn’t exist. He’s not relieved about that if that’s what you were hoping for. If anything, I think it’s worse for him. Like he’s not even worth your attention anymore.”

His chest hurt. He’d known it was bad, but he hadn’t been prepared for this. “And you believe that going to a party is going to fix all of that?”

“No, but I think it’s a good place to start.”

“Well, then I guess I don’t have much of a choice if you think it will help.”

“Excellent! Now for my next topic-”

“There’s more?”

She ignored his question and gave him a very pointed look. “Are you aware that The Magnus Institute has incredibly lax regulations about coworkers dating? In fact, there is not a single rule prohibiting a supervisor from being involved with a direct subordinate.”

For the second time during this conversation, she’d left him speechless.

_Wait...surely not._

“Um, Sasha...I’m flattered, but-”

A burst of laughter cut him off before she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t meant to be cruel. You are good-looking Jon, but just no. You are not my type at all. I was thinking of someone else, and you are most definitely his type.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone is Tim’s type.”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was a gesture he did almost daily, and he found that he was not a fan at all of being on the receiving end of it.

“Wait, _Martin_?!” 

She looked up at his panicked whisper. “Yes, Martin.”

“Sasha, even if I was interested-”

“Which you are.”

He took a long moment to consider her words. It had taken Georgie weeks to get him to accept the truth of his feelings. Since then, he’d been wallowing in his awkward pining with no idea how to fix anything about the situation. Perhaps it might be useful to have someone to talk to who actually knew Martin. Maybe she could help him figure out how to interact with the man without him ever finding out about this embarrassing crush.

“Is it that obvious?”

“To someone who’s looking, glaringly so. You practically have little hearts dancing around your head when you think no one is watching you stare at him.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed darkly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not stare at him. Hell, I try not to be in the same room with him any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Why?” Her expression softened a little. “You have a reason to want to be around him now. Things could be better for both of you, and instead you are hiding in here.”

“Because he can’t know about this, and I haven’t yet figured out how to be around him without being completely obvious. He’d figure it out, and it- He doesn’t know already, does he?!”

“No, he and Tim are both clueless about it. Would it be so bad, Jon? If he knew you cared about him?”

“Of course it would be! I’m his boss!”

“Again not a single rule-”

“But you’re talking about dating, Sasha. What about rules to protect him from a boss with a silly crush and zero social skills, who doesn’t know how to be anything but awkward around him? I’m trying not to make this place worse for him than I already have.”

“Oh, I see. You’re assuming he wouldn’t be receptive to your feelings.”

“Why would he be? As you said yourself, I’ve been awful to him. The fact that he’s not openly hostile towards me is a miracle. If he ever did find out, I’d deserve it if he laughed in my face, but knowing him, he’d feel guilty and apologize to me for not feeling the same.”

“He probably would _if_ he didn’t feel the same, but I think he might be more open to the idea than you think. Mind you, he hasn’t said anything to me! Because I certainly wouldn’t be here saying this to you if he had.”

“It’s not going to happen, and it’s not something I’m interested in pursuing. The only thing I want in relation to these feelings is to get over them. And it would be best for everyone if I avoided Martin until I can manage that.”

“You really don’t want to even try?”

“No.” When she continued to stare at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to logic her way through, he sighed and sat back heavily in his chair. “It’s a terrible idea on so many levels. First and most likely, he won’t reciprocate. Then he’s stuck working in a situation that may make him uncomfortable, me as well, and we both know how well I treat others when I’m stressed. So things get worse for all of us. The other option is that _if_ he found out and _if_ he isn’t horrified by the idea, it still ends in one of two ways. Most likely it stops at the exact same point my few romantic attempts in the past several years have. Relationships are complicated for me- And don’t say they’re complicated for everyone. I know that...but just trust me, Sasha. Being with me requires certain- I believe the term that’s been thrown at me was _sacrifices-_ that most people are not willing to make, especially when the only prize they get for doing so is the human equivalent of a cactus.”

There was concern in her expression now, and he had to look away. His gaze fell to watch as his fingers nervously picked at a splinter of wood peeling from the edge of the old desk.

“And even if somehow we did get past all of those hurdles, there’s still the problem of me. Someone like Martin being with someone like me is a terrible idea. He’s kind and thoughtful and- and I’d hurt him, Sasha. I’d do it probably without even meaning to, possibly without even noticing that I had. I don’t want to hurt him...not more than I already have. He deserves better than that.”

“Sounds like what you are actually trying to say is that he deserves better than _you_.” He didn’t respond, just continued to stare down at his hands. “That is just patently untrue. Martin deserves the same thing we all do: someone who cares about him and someone who sees him for who he is. Everything you just said tells me that you are both of those things. One thing I can tell you about Martin is that he is far stronger than most people give him credit for. He hasn’t opened up about it, but I know he’s got something going on outside of here, something is wearing him down. Yet every morning he shows up here cheerful and focused to do his best. So it’s sweet that you are trying to protect him, but someone like that deserves to make the choice for himself. And if I’m wrong and he’s not interested, then no matter what it’s Martin. He’d be utterly flattered and do everything he could to make sure you’re comfortable around him. I think you’re wrong, Jon. I don’t think things would get worse for all of us. I think at the very least you could end up with a friend instead of a coworker that you duck into closets to avoid.”

Jon’s eyes shot up from the desk.

She smiled softly at him. “Oh, yes, I saw that yesterday. You are a ridiculous man, you know that?”

He huffed. “Oh, I am all too aware.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know…”

“Just come to the party tonight. Be nice, and talk to him. Everyone expects you to be nervous around that many people; so he won’t think anything of it. See how it goes and then decide.”

“Jesus, I wish that wasn’t so blatantly true.” She grinned at him. “Alright, we’ll see just how much of a disaster tonight is, and then we can both just forget all of this madness and move on.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s Martin. Who could be nervous about spending time with him?”

“Someone who has managed to make a complete ass of themselves and then been too much of a coward to apologize for it.”

“He doesn’t hold it against you now; I do know that much for sure. And you haven’t even said you’re sorry. Just start with that, and see where it goes.”

He sat up. “Thank you for the advice, Sasha. I’ll keep it in mind tonight. This was not at all the conversation I was expecting when you walked in, but thank you for making me talk about it.”

She stood and headed for the door. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Honestly, I thought you were going to turn in your notice.”

She paused with her hand on the door knob and looked back at him. Her smile was a bit sharper than it had been a moment before. “Jury’s still out on that one. You’re not the only one waiting to see how tonight goes.” Then she was gone, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.

Jon rubbed at his temples and sighed heavily.

_Fuck._

He’d apparently made a mess of things on multiple fronts. He’d been so focused on how to get the work done that he’d forgotten to consider the feelings of the people he was leaning on to do it. Georgie had finally gotten him to realize how horrible he was acting towards Martin, but even then he’d never stopped to see that Sasha and Tim were unhappy as well.

He shook his head and pulled a stack of papers across the desk. He’d barely skimmed the top page when his stomach rumbled loudly. He groaned and set his pen back down. If he was going to make it home to change before heading to the pub Tim had mentioned, he’d have to actually leave relatively close to on time, which meant that there was still far too much work to be done for him to take a proper lunch break. There was usually a stash of his favorite biscuits in the breakroom; maybe those would tide him over.

He peeked carefully around his office door, but it appeared that all of his assistants had already left for their lunch hours. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he headed down the hall and texted Georgie.

_Something came up at work. Not going to make it tonight. Sorry. You’ll be brilliant though, even more so since you’ll be surrounded by YouTube ‘ghost hunters’. xo_

It wasn’t technically a lie. This had come up at work. He just wasn’t prepared for Georgie’s enthusiastic input on tonight. He wouldn’t put it past her to blow off the panel and insist on accompanying him for ‘moral support.’ His phone buzzed back almost immediately.

_unless the work situation is making out madly with martin in those dusty archives of yours, you will not be forgiven Mr. Sims_

He’d definitely made the right call. She couldn’t be trusted around Martin until he’d figured out how he even felt about what Sasha had said. In the weeks since he’d figured out that what he was feeling was affection instead of the annoyance he had expected, he’d been operating solely on the idea that this was just something to get past before it was noticed by anyone else, especially Martin. He hadn’t once allowed himself to consider that it wouldn’t be entirely awful. He was still unwilling to admit even the possibility of Martin returning his feelings. He’d ruined any chance of that months ago.

He turned the corner and halted as he heard a laugh echo down the hall. The breakroom door was just ahead, and through it he could see Martin at the counter unpacking a shopping bag and placing items in cabinets. Jon noticed immediately that most of the boxes were his own favorite biscuits and teas.

“Think he’s got any clue you’re the one that keeps him stocked on caffeine and sugar?” Tim’s voice came from somewhere out of sight in the room.

Martin shrugged and smiled just a little. “Doesn’t matter if he does. At least they’re here if he wants them.”

“You should really be claiming that as expenses.”

“He didn’t ask me to get them so it doesn’t feel right to ask to be reimbursed. Besides, I buy you that candied ginger you like; it’s not just for him.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re secretly in love with me and buy me tasty snacks in a desperate plea for my attention. Oh, no, wait. That’s-”

“Jon! There you are.”

He jumped as Elias’s voice rang down the hallway from the direction of his office. He didn’t look back at his boss though, because the moment Elias had spoken, Martin’s head had snapped up to spot him frozen in the hall. Now he was staring wide-eyed at Jon as his cheeks went slowly crimson. And Jon, like the utter moron he was, could do nothing but stare back at him. He only tore his eyes away when he flinched violently as Elias’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. He looked up at the man with his sleek suit and typical smile (always seemingly on the verge of shifting into a sneer) stretched across his lips. 

He was struck suddenly by the contrast between the two men. Elias was all angles and sharp edges. Every detail of his demeanor and dress was designed to cut through those around him.

But Martin...Everything about Martin was soft. From his slightly thread-bare jumpers to his rounded middle to his broad shoulders always curled forward in an attempt to diminish the amount of space he took up. Even on his worst days when Jon had nothing but venom for him, Martin had always given him a soft smile as he set the cup of tea gently down on the desk, trying to disturb him as little as possible even with his kindness.

“Jon?”

He blinked away the memory of Martin’s eyes crinkled with warmth and tried to suppress the grimace when it was replaced by Elias’s cold stare and judgmentally arched eye-brow.

“Do you have a moment?”

Still a little stunned, Jon motioned towards the breakroom. “Food” was all he managed to mutter. _Dammit._ He was making a fool out of himself.

Elias’s deep chuckle made him feel like a child being humored. “Yes, that is typically what’s kept in a breakroom.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed, and he balled his fists up at his sides. “I was just going to grab a snack since I’ll be working through lunch,” he forced out through teeth that were only slightly clenched.

“Ah, good! Bring it back to your office. There’s something I’d like you to work on. I can tell you about it while you take your break.”

“You do know that makes it not a ‘break,’ right?”

But Elias was already walking back towards Jon’s door, and he waved the question away without looking back.

Jon took a few deep breaths to calm himself before turning back towards his original destination. Martin’s face was still bright red, but his expression was filled with sympathy now instead of surprise. Wordlessly, he held out the box of biscuits he was still holding. Jon sighed and walked forward. He glanced over at Tim as he entered the room. He was sitting on the arm of the couch that had lived in the Archives since likely before Gertrude’s time. He was also staring at Jon in shock and looking very much like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Jon scowled in confusion, but had no time to pursue the thought before Martin was before him. He looked down at the box instead of up at the other man.

“You really should eat something more than just these.”

There was a nervousness to his voice, but Jon didn’t need to see him to know that same small, inexplicable smile was there.

“No time apparently.” He shrugged as he took the box and held it tightly in both hands to keep from fidgeting. “Thank you, Martin.”

There was a beat of silent shock that made him acutely aware of just how rarely he said those words. His chest constricted painfully, and he turned to leave before he could do something stupid.

“Good luck,” Martin called out softly.

He remembered how small Elias’s dismissive wave had made him feel and forced himself to turn to meet Martin’s gaze. He nodded and gave what he thought might have been a passable attempt at a smile.

Tonight was going to be a disaster.

* * *

The moment the door closed behind Elias, Jon dropped his head onto the blotter on his desk with a groan. What had sounded at first like a simple search of one small section of the Archives had ended up something that would take all of them hours by the time Elias had finished explaining it. He really should get started on it, but he was having trouble convincing himself to lift his head. Why did dealing with Elias always leave him so exhausted?

He made a vague grunt of acknowledgement when there was a knock.

“Jon?” Martin poked his head around the door. “I br- Oh! Was it that bad?” He stepped into the room with a mug clutched close to his chest. Jon didn’t even have the energy to be nervous around him. He dragged himself up off of the desk and laid his chin in his palms.

“Just more of the usual. He strolls in and casually derails all of our afternoon plans. How he always manages to come up with these _project_ ideas on Friday afternoons-” He broke off the sentence with a disgusted noise. Martin hummed sympathetically, but otherwise just stood there staring at him. “Sorry, did you need something?”

Martin jumped like he had been goosed. “Oh! I brought tea.” He stepped forward and actually handed the cup to Jon instead of setting it down on the desk as usual. Their fingers brushed for just a moment on the handle, and Jon glanced up at Martin’s face. Just in time to see Martin do the same. He jerked his hands away quickly and stepped back from Jon’s desk, arms clasped behind him. “Thought you might need it after a meeting with Elias.”

Jon lifted the mug to his face and breathed deeply. He hummed happily and watched Martin’s face brighten immediately. “Quite right. How did you know when to have it ready? This feels like it was just made.”

“Um, well, I just happened-” The reddening of his cheeks tipped Jon off.

“This is your tea, isn’t it?”

“It was going to be, yeah, but I hadn’t added anything to it yet when I heard Elias leave. So now it’s yours. I can always make another.”

Jon’s brow furrowed as he stared at Martin. He still found himself frustrated with the man often, but now it was mostly due to being unable to make sense of him. Martin had no reason to do things like this for him. At first, he’d thought it was just an attempt to get on his good side, but it had continued even after Jon had stopped berating him. Surely, it couldn’t simply be... _No one_ was that nice. Especially not to Jon. And certainly not after he’d spent weeks criticizing every aspect of someone’s performance with the possible exception of their tea-making ability.

_Oh._

That was it; it had to be. He had been made to feel like stocking the breakroom, making tea, and looking after the people ‘who actually did the work’ was all he was qualified to do. That’s why he spent so much time fussing over Jon. He’d made Martin feel incompetent, and this was him trying to find some way to be useful.

He’d been staring just long enough for the smile on Martin’s face to falter a bit. “Martin, you don’t have to do this. There are better things you could be spending your time on. I don’t need mothering, and there’s no need for you to be stocking the breakroom.” He didn’t realize a bit of his frustration with himself had bled into his tone until the smile vanished completely and Martin’s chin tucked in against his chest, gaze locked firmly on his shoes. The fact that virtually everything he’d said could be misinterpreted didn’t occur to him till much later.

The flush had spread all the way to Martin’s ears, and he mumbled an apology before ducking out of the room quickly. Jon ran a hand over his face.

_Why am I so bad at this?_

He stood and lunged for the door, wrenching it open. “Martin, wait!”

He froze halfway back to his desk, flinching as if he expected to be chastised more. Jon couldn’t help but notice that both Tim and Sasha were at their desks, watching the scene wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry-I…” That got Martin to turn back to face him, looking both shocked and confused. Jon sighed. “Thank you. What I meant to say instead of all of that was that it is not necessary, but certainly appreciated. So thank you.”

It seemed to take a moment for Martin to realize he was expected to respond to this. His mouth opened a few times, but after no real sound emerged, he simply nodded. Jon had managed to fit an apology and a ‘thank you’ into one conversation. No wonder Martin was speechless.

“Why don’t you make yourself another cup and take a bit to enjoy it? I’ll do the same with this one. When you’re done, let me know, and the four of us can get started on this damn project.”

Martin just nodded again. Jon stepped back into the office and closed the door again. He groaned softly and buried his face in his hands. He still hadn’t moved a few moments later when he heard Martin’s voice, quiet but very distinctly say, “Fuck.”

He raised his head and blinked rapidly at the door. Tim’s voice followed a moment later, sounding as if he was moving across the room towards Martin. “Yeeeaaahhh, he definitely heard me. I’m really sorry, man. I didn’t think he’d come out of the office until-” The rest faded as the two apparently moved out of the room.

_What the hell did that mean?!_

* * *

Hours later, they were all covered in dust, frustrated, and muttering curses regularly. He’d even caught Martin whispering, “Shit, shit, sh-” harshly as he nursed a nasty paper cut. They were however making progress, even if it had meant that they’d all had to abandon the work they’d planned to be doing this afternoon.

Jon finished up a box of statements, gathered up the relevant ones he’d set aside and added them to the distressingly large stack they’d accumulated. Sorting them would have to wait until Monday. Normally, he’d have just planned to work through the evening, but somehow even this task had not been enough to take his mind completely off of what he’d agreed to do tonight.

He grunted as he picked up the large box, and he almost dropped it as the documents inside shifted. It was steadied by two large hands as Martin suddenly appeared at his side.

“Here, let me help with that.” 

“A-alright.” Jon was fairly certain Martin could have managed it easily by himself, but he must have been trying to save Jon’s ego. They carried the box between them over to the pile of others they had already searched. “Thank you.”

He was definitely blushing, but all Martin did was nod and turn away. Jon caught sight of Sasha as he stepped away, smiling knowingly at him. He scowled at her briefly, though there was no real heat behind it. His eyes darted over to Tim to check if he had noticed anything, but Tim was looking down at his watch and frowning. Jon glanced at his own and was surprised to see it was nearly 5:30.

“I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. You three should head out; I can finish up here.”

Sasha and Martin both immediately began arguing with him. Tim joined in rather unconvincingly a moment later. Jon motioned to the stack of unsorted boxes. “There’s only two left; it won’t take me long. Plus Tim has a party to host, and I’m sure he has a few last minute things he didn’t manage to get to...”

Tim mocked offense. “Boss, you wound me! Well, there are a _couple_ of things...”

Jon shook his head. The fond smile felt more than a little unfamiliar on his face. “That’s what I figured. Go on, all of you. You help with that mess while I finish up with this one.”

“You are going to try to make it, Boss?” Tim paused by the door. Martin and Sasha both looked up from where they had been gathering the statements they had selected.

“You really want me there? I didn’t figure you’d want to spend a Friday night with your boss after having to suffer through me all week.”

“Absolutely! I’ve got money riding on whether you actually know how to relax.” Tim grinned at him.

He arched an eyebrow in response. “Dare I ask which side your bet is on?” The only answer he got was a wink. He noticed Sasha staring intently at him out of the corner of his eye. “I will do my very best.”

She nodded slightly. “Don’t you dare start on the statements tonight. We can all tackle those on Monday.”

Jon assured her that he wouldn’t and shooed them all out of the room. He could hear the laughter echoing from the office as they collected their things before it faded slowly as they made their way out of the Archives.

* * *

He was late, much later than he’d intended to be. The last box of statements had gotten wet at some point, and quite a few had to be carefully pried from each other, page by musty page. He’d at least had the presence of mind before dashing out for the train to head into the Archives’ bathroom to wash the smudges of dust from his face and arms and having lost his hair tie at some point in the day, to twist his hair up into a less-messy-than-normal bun, securing it with a small decorated pin Georgie had gifted him .

He hadn’t had time to make it home to change clothes. So the best he could do was to pull off the green sweater vest, roll up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt, and hope that he wasn’t so grime-covered or moldy-smelling that anyone would notice. He’d gone back and forth on the top button, but even as he landed on leaving it done up, he knew Tim would have rolled his eyes and called his style ‘grumpy, old professor’ again.

He grabbed a kebab from a street vendor on his way to the train. Not ideal, but neither was drinking in front of colleagues when he’d skipped both lunch and dinner. The journey seemed to take forever, and yet he still felt utterly unprepared when he finally found himself walking up to the large windows, fogged over in the cool night air so that he could make out only the vague shape of a crowd of people. He stepped slowly up the small set of stairs to the door. He could hear the music and the cacophony of voices through the dark wood. 

There was no point in delaying it further. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner Georgie and Sasha both could leave him alone, and he could push all this nonsense from his mind. He just needed to go in. He was still working up the nerve to reach for the handle when the door swung open, and two people nearly stumbled into him. 

A familiar face looked down at him in shock. “Jon?”

“Stuart.” He’d started in Research just a few months before Jon had been promoted. They had clashed almost instantaneously. He was lazy and conceited and more than just a little conniving. He had quickly shown himself as someone who would make themselves scarce when there was work to be done, yet always seemed to know precisely when to show back up to partake in the credit. Jon had quite blatantly called him out for it in front of their supervisor.

“Definitely didn’t think I’d run into you here? You do know there’s a party, right? Does Tim know you’re coming?”

Jon bristled, and then hated himself for it when he saw the glint in the other man’s eyes. Of course he was trying to get a rise out of Jon; he was just the type of prick that would enjoy that.

“Tim invited me to the party so that would be a yes on both counts. Now if you’ll excuse me; I’m running late.” He pushed his way between the two men, who had to back up against the rails on each side. As he was closing the door behind him, he heard Stuart whisper something to his friend including the word ‘wanker,’ and then they both started laughing as they headed down the stairs, pulling cigarette packets out of their pockets.

Jon stood facing the closed door for a moment, breathing deeply and slowly unclenching his fists before turning to the large room. It was very crowded and dim, lit only by the small lights hanging low over a handful of booths near the back and the bright lights of a stage, where a screen was currently showing the words for a Lady Gaga song that a large group of women were absolutely butchering with loud confidence. Tim had failed to mention that there would be karaoke when he had invited Jon. He recognized a few faces from the Institute as he scanned the room, and though he couldn’t have named even half of them, the stunned faces when they noticed him suggested they certainly knew him. He spotted the new woman from the library at a high top table close to the bar, and he was just about to move his attention elsewhere when someone in the crowd shifted so that he caught sight of who was making her laugh so hard. Martin was leaned against the table in front of her, recounting some story animatedly, hands gesturing wildly. He was used to Martin in baggy jumpers and trousers that were inevitably an inch or so too short for him. He’d exchanged his work clothes for a t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. Jon chastised himself. Such an ordinary outfit should not cause his pulse to jump the way it was. It was just that work-Martin was a stuttering, tense mess, and he looked so different like this.

For the most part, his smiles at work were small, often shy, and always just a little unsure, or at least the ones that Jon had seen were. Perhaps he grinned like this, broad and open, for people who didn’t make his life hell. His cheeks were ruddy from laughter and even from here, Jon could see how much he lit up when she covered her face, shoulders shaking with laughter.

_God, he’s beautiful._

“You’re staring again.”

Jon jumped as Sasha appeared in front of him. He didn’t even bother protesting this time. She turned him towards her slightly and tsk’ed. She immediately undid the button he had debated for so long, and after biting her lip while considering him, reached around him to untuck all but the front of his shirt.

“There much better. You are late by the way.”

“I know; I’m sorry. When does anything in that damn place go as expected though?”

She tilted her head in agreement. “They’ve both been keeping an eye out for you, even if they are trying to hide it.” Jon gave her a skeptical look, and she sighed. “They both really want to like you, Jon. So do I, actually. The only thing getting in the way of that is you not believing it. Well, and your occasional dick-ish behavior. But we’re going to work on both of those tonight.”

He turned his head just in time to see Martin’s eyes flick towards the door. His face went slack as he spotted Jon, and he held his breath waiting to see what reaction his appearance would evoke. A somewhat disbelieving but otherwise genuine smile spread across his lips. He leaned forward to say something to...library-girl ( _Why am I so shit with names?)_ and started towards them. 

“Sasha, this is a terrible idea,” he whispered nervously.

“Just breathe, be nice, and you’ll be fine,” she assured him as she slipped a hand around his elbow and turned him smoothly to face Martin as he reached them.

“Hey! You made it!”

For a moment, Jon was too distracted to answer him. Something felt different. Despite his attempts, for various reasons, to avoid the man, Jon had often found himself near to Martin. He’d always been aware that Martin was much taller than him, but as he found himself tilting his head back even further than normal, he realized what had changed. Martin wasn’t slouching. His shoulders weren’t curled forward either. He stood before Jon for perhaps the first time at his full height and imposing stature, and yet with that bright smile, he didn’t feel like Martin was trying to intimidate or impress him, which taller men often did. 

He simply looked comfortable in his own body for once.

Speaking of taller men flaunting the height difference- Jon sighed as Tim’s elbow came to rest on the top of his head as he stepped up smoothly next to him.

“Yes, I did, and I’m already regretting it.” 

“Boss! So glad you decided to show!”

“It is a party, Tim. Perhaps you could actually use my name.” 

“No can do, Boss. It sounds funny. Like ‘Jonathan Sims’ is fine. That’s just fun to say, especially in your accent,” which he demonstrated several times as Sasha and Martin giggled. “But something about ‘Jon’...just nope. It feels like when your mum uses your full name. Trouble all the way around.”

“So if I ever do hear you say it?”

“You fucked up royally, buddy.”

Jon turned his head to look up at Tim, surreptitiously tipping the arm off of him. “Just how drunk are you already?”

Tim grinned. “Not nearly as drunk as I’m going to be!”

Jon sighed and then jumped as Tim whooped loudly.

“There’s number one! Drink up, lady and gent!”

He watched all three of his assistants toast each other and take a drink from their respective glasses. “Did- did you all make a drinking game out of…”

“All the ways we can annoy you? Sure did!” Sasha answered gleefully. She began to tick off the conditions, “Drink for sighs, eye rolls, and jaw clenching. Finish the glass if we can get you to groan, and shots if you pinch the bridge of your nose.”

He looked back and forth between them. “I’m going to need to hire three new assistants on Monday. There’s no way you lot will survive the night.”

There was a pause, and then Martin raised his glass and drained it. When he noticed that all three of them were staring at him, he shrugged, eyes darting quickly to meet Jon’s then away again. “He made a joke. Felt like that deserved a drink even if it is the opposite of the game.”

Tim threw back his head and laughed. “It does indeed!” So he and Sasha followed suit. “Now we all need drinks.” He put his arm around Jon’s shoulders and guided him towards the bar. He looked back to see that Sasha had linked an arm through Martin’s, and they were following them closely. Tim let go of him as they stepped up to the counter and slipped under the partition, popping up behind the bar. “What’s your poison, Boss?”

“Um, Tim, birthday party or not, I’m pretty sure they frown on-”

“Oh, no worries there. Me and David are good friends.” He threw a wink at the bartender further down who was taking drink orders from several people at once. He just rolled his eyes fondly and went about grabbing several beers from the cooler below him. “This is his place, and he’s fine with me making sure my good friends are taken care of.”

Jon was too surprised by the statement to hide it well. Sasha nudged his shoulder lightly as she held out her wine glass. He expected some sort of snarky remark, but Tim took her glass as well as Martin’s wordlessly, with just a small, lopsided smile and a hint of color on his cheeks. He refilled Sasha’s red wine and handed it back to her. She took it and then leaned in close to Martin, pulling his attention to the new group on the stage who apparently thought it was necessary to shout into a microphone. While he was laughing at whatever she had whispered to him, Jon watched as Tim pulled Martin’s and his own glass closer mixing a rum and coke in both, one with a normal shot of liquor and the other with roughly half as much.

“Here you go, Marto!” The glass with less alcohol in it changed hands, and Martin clinked glasses with him before turning back to Sasha. Tim noticed Jon watching him and smiled at him. “You never answered the question. What can I get for you?”

“Oh, um, Crown and ginger?”

“Coming right up.” As he mixed the drink, he spoke without looking up at Jon. “I bartended a bit in uni. Got pretty good at knowing how much to pour to keep people right in that zone where they’re just gone enough to let loose but not to lose control.” His expression shifted into something serious but fond. “See tipsy Martin has fun, lets his guard down, and actually stops worrying for a little while. But drunk Martin...well, that tends to go one of two ways: either he overthinks everything and gets even more down on himself than usual or he completely rebels against his normal self and makes stupid decisions that it takes me a week to talk him out of hating himself for.”

Martin was always overly cheerful, but somehow Jon didn’t have any trouble believing Tim’s observations. He’d always felt there was something just a little sad behind Martin’s smiles. He was simultaneously relieved and more concerned that it wasn’t just his presence that caused it. Tim held out the drink when it was finished. Leaning on the bar closer to Jon, he tipped his glass to him, and they both took a sip. Jon cringed, and Tim’s smile was back. “You’ve got some catching up to do, Boss. Next one will be a lighter pour.”

Jon swirled the glass. “How much of that drinking was about me?”

He’d known Tim for years, and he’d seen the man angry only a handful of times. Still he recognized the slight tightening around his eyes and the twitch of muscles in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Too damn much of it.”

Jon nodded, not really expecting any other answer. He straightened and reached over the bar to clap a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Then how about we go see if I can make up for some of that by getting tipsy Martin to have some fun.”

Tim’s eyes widened for a moment before he broke out in a grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely!”

* * *

Turned out Tim had lied about the next drink being less stout; so while Jon was well into what was technically only his second drink, the tingling in his limbs suggested it was more like his third if not fourth. Which is why he didn’t flee the moment Tim plopped the book of songs down on their table. The other three were still far ahead of him due to their little game. The count currently stood at two sighs, three eye rolls, and one groan (though honestly what did they expect, Tim’s pun had been almost criminally bad). He listened as the three of them argued over what song they wanted to do and who would have to sing lead.

“I can sing.” It didn’t occur to him that he’d spoken out loud until he saw Martin’s head poke up over Tim’s shoulder, staring at him wide-eyed. Tim and Sasha both turned to him slowly, wearing identical mischievous grins.

“Oh, this is absolutely happening!” Tim grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into their huddle. “Singer picks...Um, you do know, like, pop songs, right?”

“Yes, Tim. I am not as ancient as you seem to think I am. Though do they have anything a little older? Bowie tends to be right in my range.”

Martin made a small sound, but Tim leaned forward to thumb through the book before Jon could see his face. “Here we go! This will be perfect!”

It seemed that Tim was also a ‘good friend’ of the karaoke DJ as well since they were immediately ushered up onto the stage as soon as the current singer finished, despite several others seeming to be waiting in line.

Tim shoved a mic into Jon’s hands and maneuvered him out in front as the three of them gathered around the other mic. He winked at Jon and started to sing the back up part of ‘Let’s Dance.’ Sasha came in a beat late but caught up quickly. Martin, for his part, mostly just stood there gawking at him. Jon downed the rest of his drink, trying not to choke as it burned on the way down. 

_Okay, don’t overthink it. It’s been years, but you used to do this all the time. You’ve got this._

And it turned out he did. He found it surprisingly easy to slip back into that old stage persona he’d discovered in himself the first time Georgie had pushed him out in front of a crowd. Tim was, of course, perfectly comfortable being at the center of the room’s attention, and Sasha was laughing at his antics more than she was singing along. She was distracted enough that Jon surprised a gasp out of her when he pulled her out to dance with him. Tim cut in on the next verse, dipping Jon low and winking at him suggestively. Jon didn’t miss a beat in the song when he reached up and pushed Tim’s face away, rolling his eyes. Tim laughed as he brought him up and spun him around to face Martin, who was too shocked to even resist as Jon took his hand and pulled him out to the front. He had to duck ridiculously low as Jon tried to spin him, and he was giggling as he came back around. Jon grinned at him. They were still dancing when the song ended. He heard someone cheer loudly and turned to see Library-Girl clapping and shouting. Most of the other groups joined, and _oh_ , there were a lot of faces out there that he worked with.

Before he could panic about that, Tim grabbed him from behind and lifted him easily off the ground. “Holy shit, Boss! You weren’t kidding that you could sing! Where the hell have you been hiding that?”

Jon batted at his arms. “Ger’ off!” He straightened his shirt and glared up at him once he was set back down.

Tim ignored him and took the mic from his hand. There were more Institute employees at the front of the line they had skipped. Tim tossed it to them. “Alright, Mark. Let’s see if Research can follow that up!”

They headed to a booth in the back. Sasha slid into one side, and she stared daggers at Tim when he settled opposite of her. He looked confused for a moment then seemed to understand just as Martin sat down next to him. Jon eyed them both suspiciously, but still pushed in next to Sasha. 

“Okay, spill it. What the hell was that?” Sasha asked, eyes lingering on Tim just a moment more before turning to Jon.

“While Tim was bartending in school, I was fronting a band.”

“Please tell me there are pictures to prove this. Not that I don’t believe you after that performance, but I _need_ to see this.” Tim clasped his hands together like he was pleading.

Well, what better way to prove he was an actual human being, as Sasha had suggested, that to flash some old embarrassing pictures of himself? Plus he was feeling a little reminiscent after singing for the first time in so long. “I’m pretty sure Georgie has some on Instagram…” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling, ignoring Tim’s shock that he even knew what the app was much less had an account. He immediately noticed a photo she’d posted tonight of herself closest to the camera and another member of the panel flashing a smile behind her. She’d captioned it “Talking ghosts with this awesome chick tonight” and tagged @theroyalmel. Interesting, but not what he’d come for. He moved further back in her timeline. He heard a squeak from over his shoulder, and Sasha snatched the phone out of his hands.

“Who is this absolute beast?!”

Jon tilted the phone and smiled. “That’s The Admiral.”

She cooed at the picture. “Best cat name ever.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, is this your cat?” Martin asked, reaching for the phone. “He’s huge!”

Jon laughed as the phone was passed to Tim. “He’s a force of nature. He used to be partly mine, but he stayed with Georgie.”

“Georgie?” Tim asked, handing him back the phone.

“Ex-bandmate and ex-girlfriend. Still good friends though.”

He went back to scrolling, not noticing how the table had gone quiet around him. He looked up a moment later when Sasha broke the silence. “Don’t look at me like that, Timothy. Just because he has an ex-girlfriend does not mean you’re right.”

He looked back and forth between them, confused.

“See, Sasha here has proposed that you might be into guys.”

“And Tim thinks you’re straight.”

“No, what I said was that no one with that fashion sense could be even a little gay.”

“Hey!” Martin interjected. “First of all, I like Jon’s clothes, and second, I’m 100% gay and you criticize my fashion all the time.” 

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, when you phrase it like that, those statements are not nearly as supportive as you thought they were.”

Martin snorted (which was in no way adorable at all). “Yeah, probably not.”

“Martin, the term ‘fashion’ could not even loosely be applied to your wardrobe.” He turned back to Jon, ignoring Martin’s shove to his shoulder. “So back to the question at hand. Was this Georgie the first in a long line of lady ‘friends’ or was she that one that made you realize you salute a rainbow flag?”

“Jesus, Tim, that’s a bit intrusive. You don’t have to answer that, Jon. It’s none of our business.” Martin scowled, but Tim shrugged.

“It’s just a question. Jon knows he can tell me to fuck off if he doesn’t want to answer it, and we’ll move on. I’m just curious. Usually I can get a read on someone, but you…”

Tim squinted at him, and Jon realized something. He smirked, “It drives you crazy that your charm has no effect on me, doesn’t it? That’s why you think I’m straight, because then you could explain it.”

Tim sniffed and looked away. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Jon couldn’t resist snickering at that. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Georgie was neither of those things. She’s not the only woman I’ve dated, but she is the only one I had a relationship with. But even before her, I was aware that I was not interested in just women.”

That got Tim’s attention back. He gasped dramatically, “Please, _please_ tell me you’re saying what I think you are! Do I have a bi-buddy in the Archives?” 

Jon groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not ever use that phrase again.”

“Shots!” Sasha yelled gleefully.

“Ooh, and finish the drink! There was definitely a groan in there,” Martin added.

“Of course there was! Did you hear the ridiculous word-crime that just came out of his mouth?”

Martin almost choked on the last of his drink as he started giggling. Jon couldn’t help but grin at him as he hid behind his hands.

“Scooch, Marto. Shots coming up! And refills so hand over your glasses.” 

“I deserve a shot too for having to listen to that!” Tim gave him a thumbs up as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Was that Georgie in a few of the pictures with The Admiral?” Sasha asked, leaning forward to put her chin on his shoulder. He nodded. “She’s gorgeous...also looks a bit like she could break you like a twig.”

Jon huffed out a laugh. “Can’t say that I’ve ever thought about it like that, but yes, she is rather strong.”

He felt the shift in her jaw as she grinned at him. “Guess you have a type then, huh?”

The flush spread across his cheeks as he tried very hard not to glance at Martin. He bit his lip as he thought about the way his stomach had fluttered when Martin had towered over him earlier. “It’s possible,” he admitted, petulantly.

Martin looked lost, but luckily Tim returned before he asked for clarification. Martin stood to help him with the glasses. Tim slid back into the booth and pushed a shot glass out to each of them as Martin sat next to him again.

Jon looked at the small glass, suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Just drink it, Boss.”

Still eyeing Tim skeptically, Jon lifted the glass to clink it with the other three. A moment later, he and Martin were both sputtering and red-faced while Tim laughed and Sasha looked on unimpressed.

“Christ, that burns!” Jon choked out.

“Lightweights,” Sasha teased.

“To be fair, that was probably my first shot since-”

“Since you were in a band.” Tim grinned at him.

“Yes actually,” Jon responded with a laugh. Then he remembered and picked his phone back up off the table. “Oh, that reminds me…”

Sasha made a somewhat strangled sound and once again grabbed the phone from him. “Jon! Holy shit- you used to be hot!”

“Once again, not really a compliment when you say it like that.”

She flapped her hand at him. “I mean you’ve got that whole nerd-hot thing going on now, but this...This is smoky eyeliner and a sexy skirt! There’s no comparison!”

Jon blinked as an arm suddenly appeared in front of his face. He followed it up to find Martin, bright red and refusing to look at him, but still demanding the phone. Sasha handed it over with a sly grin.

Tim draped himself over Martin’s shoulders so that he could peer at the device as well. For a long moment, they were both silent. He wasn’t entirely sure Martin was breathing.

“Boss…” Tim’s voice was almost reverent. “Bloody hell. Those legs…”

Martin agreed. Or at least that’s what he thought the noise that Martin made was meant to be. Sasha nudged his shoulder. He ignored her.

“If you are quite done ogling-”

“Not even close!” Tim slapped his hand away without looking from the screen. “Are there more?” he asked even as he swiped the screen.

Jon watched as Tim and Martin furrowed their brows in confusion and then tipped their heads to the side in some sort of weird synchrony. Apparently the change in perspective was enough to clarify what they were seeing. Martin’s entire face went slack with shock.

“Oh, I think we broke Martin,” Sasha whispered.

Tim, meanwhile, had raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared beneath his fringe and was eyeing the picture with interest. “Never would have guessed you were so flexible, Boss.”

The small thumbnail of the next picture had been too dark to make out any detail so he had no idea what they were seeing. He pulled his phone out of Martin’s hands. Martin blinked slowly as his focus shifted from the now missing device to Jon’s face. He caught just a glimpse of Martin’s eyes going wide before he looked down to see what he’d inadvertently shared. The picture was very dark, but he had the benefit of memory to help him discern what he was seeing. It was from the same night, same thick eyeliner and bright red skirt. He wondered briefly what had happened to it. He’d always liked it. Georgie had bought it for him after she caught him running the soft material between his fingers. He’d liked the feel of it almost as much as he’d liked how she would press him against the wall to kiss him when he wore it.

Georgie had a friend in the photography program at a nearby school who often took shots at their gigs. She’d caught a snapshot of Jon at the end of the night. He’d sunk to his knees at the mic stand as the last song ended, and then let himself fall backwards as the lights went down.

He was arched back with the top of his head resting on the stage, silhouetted by the dim blue lights from the side stage. The skirt was hiked up to mid-thigh and his shirt had ridden up so that the jut of his hip bones and the trail of hair down from his navel were visible. The light reflected off the sheen of sweat covering him, making his skin shine almost purplish. His hair had been much shorter then, and what of it wasn’t plastered to the sweat on his forehead stuck out in wild directions. One canine glinted brightly where he was biting his lip, smiling rakishly up at someone. He knew it was Georgie who was just out of the camera’s view.

“Oh, my…” Sasha leaned close over his shoulder to get a better look.

Jon’s face was burning. “I- I didn’t know that picture existed. I…” he stammered but didn’t really know what he would say next. He glanced around at them, but found himself too flustered to do anything but look back down at the table. Attraction was a complicated subject for him, and it always took him a bit by surprise when it was directed at him. His eyes were pulled up though when Martin shot to his feet.

“Gotta go check on Emma,” he blurted out even as he fled. They watched as he made his way through the crowd. Emma (aka Library-Girl) was chatting with a group from Artefact Storage, and she waved when she saw him approaching. He grabbed her hand and kept going without slowing. She called out an apology to the group, and they disappeared into a large clump of people by the bar.

Tim was laughing again. “You’ll have to excuse Martin. He’s very gay.”

Jon scowled. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that he usually doesn’t have an issue, but then his arguably hot boss starts flashing pics of himself in compromising positions and - _boom-_ gay crisis mode activated.”

“Okay, first, I did not flash anything. You swiped to a picture I didn’t even know was there. Next, you are ridiculous. And finally, _still_ not actually a compliment.”

“Oh, Boss, do you need me to bat my eyes and tell you that you’re pretty?”

“I reiterate: ridiculous.”

Before Tim could respond, someone shouted his name into the microphone. “Tim! You see them all day! Get your ass up here and sing with us!”

“If you’ll excuse me, my fans are beckoning.” 

They both shooed him away with rolled eyes. Once he was gone, Sasha leaned over his shoulder again and swiped back to a picture of Jon with the band backstage after the show. “What happened to that guy?” She pointed at the younger Jon that was draped over Georgie’s shoulders as she tried to pack away her guitar.

“What do you mean?”

“That Jon looks like he’d have no problems being friends with his coworkers. He definitely doesn’t look like someone who’d be so freaked out by a crush that he’d hide out in his office to avoid the guy he likes.”

Jon stared at the picture, eyes lingering on Georgie’s smile. It hadn’t been long after this night that things had started to unravel between them. “It’s complicated, Sasha.” She rested her chin on his shoulder and motioned for him to go on. “There was so much I didn’t know back then. Mostly about myself. And I didn’t know how much it would hurt as I tried to figure it out. Or how much I’d hurt her along the way. We found each other again later, after I knew myself better; once I could apologize for the pain I’d caused and finally explain why things had happened the way they did. But that part of us was too broken by then. At least I’ve had her by my side the past few years, when I found out that just because I understand myself now doesn’t mean that the few people who have actually caught my interest will understand or accept me. Even if they say they do.”

Sasha’s head cocked to the side as she considered his words.

“Sorry, that probably doesn’t make sense without context-”

“No, I think I get it. You said you were bi earlier, but did you actually mean more like biromantic instead of bisexual?”

Jon smiled softly at her. “You really are far too clever sometimes. Yes, I- I am asexual, and I have been attracted in the past to both men and women, though it’s not quite the same for me. Less desire, more…”

“Intimacy?” she suggested.

“That’s more like it, yes. I want to be close to someone, to feel close to them. To know them well enough that I can actually relax, because I don’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing because they’ll know me too. I do want the physical contact, but not the sexual acts that most people expect to come with it. So...complicated.”

“You have good taste then. I can look at Martin and tell you one thing for sure: that man is a world-class snuggler.”

Jon snorted. “Probably so.” He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “Guess I’m fully out of the closet now. I’ve never told anyone at the Institute...just never felt comfortable enough to talk about any of it. Any of me, I guess.”

She hugged him tightly despite the awkward angle in the booth. “Thank you for trusting me. That means a lot, Jon.” She leaned back to look at him again, but didn’t let go of his shoulders. “So you hide from Martin partially because you’re afraid that you’ll hurt him, like you’ve done before both with him and this Georgie, but also because you’re scared that _you’ll_ get hurt again if he can’t accept that you are ace?”

“Jesus, it sounds even more terrifying when you say it like that.”

“It is scary putting yourself out there, but I honestly can’t think of anyone less likely to hurt you than Martin- or someone more worth the risk.”

“It’s a hell of a risk though when we’d have to see each other every day after.”

She nodded. “It is...I’m sorry, Jon. For assuming that you were just- I don’t know- _normal_ nervous about asking someone out. I didn’t know you had so much you needed to weigh about taking the leap, but I shouldn’t have assumed anyway. I won’t push anymore, okay? I get why you’re scared, and it should 100% be your decision if you want to tell Martin.”

He put his hand over hers on his shoulder. “Thank you, Sasha.” When she laid her cheek on his hand, he could feel the heat from the flush the wine had caused. He let his head fall against hers and just enjoyed the warmth for a moment. Aside from the odd arm around his shoulders from Tim, Georgie was essentially the only person who touched him anymore.

“You’re a good guy, Jon. I hope you find that, whether it’s with Martin or not, I hope you find someone who sees you. That you can let your guard down with. You deserve it.”

The shot likely had not been a good idea, because embarrassingly, he felt tears prick his eyes at this. 

“Ooh, you two are being way too sappy over here,” Tim’s voice cut in loudly. He slid back in opposite them. “If we’re at the serious subject level of drunk, then maybe Jon can tell us why he stole Sasha’s job?”

“Tim!” Sasha gasped as she sat up. She glared at him, but he ignored her and continued to stare at Jon, challenging him to answer. “Jon, forget him. You don’t-”

“No, that’s fair.” That surprised both of them into silence. “It’s a conversation I intended to have as soon as we moved into the Archives, but I just didn’t know how to start it. Then things went so terribly...and it’s yet another thing I’ve been too scared to do. Trust me, Sasha, no one knows more than me that this job should have been yours. It was obvious that’s what Gertrude had planned.”

“Then why’d you say yes?” Twice tonight he’d caught the hint of anger in Tim’s expression. Things were worse than he thought.

“Because I figured out pretty quickly during our conversation that Elias was not going to offer it to Sasha if I turned it down.” He held up a hand when Tim started to ask another question. “I don’t know why. The only thing I can guess is that he also knew Gertrude wanted you to have it, and this is all retribution for whatever happened between the two of them when she retired with no notice. Or he’s just a misogynistic pig. Both are equally likely. But when I hesitated, he kept bringing up Neil’s name-”

“Ew, that creeper from IT? You’re kidding!” At least Sasha didn’t look upset, just curious.

“Exactly! He asked for my answer immediately, and I made a split-second decision. Because I knew if you were passed over, you’d leave.”

“And...you want me to leave?”

“No! Not at all! I love working with you, and I don’t want you to quit...but I expect you to. I expect you to find some place that will realize what you’re actually worth. And in that moment, I thought if I took the position at least I could do something to help. It would be me that you could ask for a reference. I don’t think you’ll need much help at all finding something phenomenal, but at least my reference wouldn’t hurt your chances like the half-assed lame things that Elias or _Neil_ would have given.”

“Did you actually even want the job?” She was looking at him like she was trying to make sense of him. It wasn’t unusual for people to look at Jon that way, but it typically meant he’d done something wrong or that the person was frustrated enough to just give up on interacting with him. His shoulders came up, and he looked down at the table.

“I didn’t _not_ want it. It sounded interesting, and I do like the work...but I didn’t expect- I should have realized that I would be terrible at managing people. I don’t understand most people any more than they understand me. But I do promise that if I thought there was a chance he would have given it to you, I wouldn’t have said yes.”

He stopped breathing as she grabbed his cheeks and turned his face towards her. She tipped it forward and pressed a solid kiss to his forehead. “Jon, that is incredibly sweet and very stupid of you.”

“Sounds pretty on brand of him to me,” Tim laughed. Jon glanced over to see that the wide grin was back in place with no hint of the anger anymore.

He looked back to Sasha. “I certainly don’t want you to pass up any great opportunities, but if you can be patient for a bit, I am trying to figure out a way for you to stay and get what you’ve earned.”

She pinched his cheek as she released him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And seriously? _Neil_?” Tim exclaimed.

They spent the next bit exchanging stories of the strange encounters they’d had with the Institute’s IT department, which seemed to be staffed wholly with a group ranging from vaguely creepy to downright potential sociopaths. Jon felt himself relaxing more as they included him in their conversation, laughing at his quips and asking him for more details. Sasha was just launching into a new one when Tim got distracted.

“Hey, Jon, you know Martin, right? Big guy, works in the office, makes tea that you’d kill a man for, spends all day trying to make himself take up as little room as physically and metaphorically possible?”

Jon arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m familiar, yes.”

“You wanna know the best thing about tipsy Martin?” Tim pointed before Jon could answer, and he turned in the bench to see what he was talking about.

“He dances!” Jon gasped.

“He doesn’t just dance. That man can move when he stops thinking he has something to be embarrassed about.” Tim grinned as they watched Emma and Martin join the small group dancing in front of the stage, where HR had now apparently taken up the departmental challenge with a rendition of Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy.”

“He looks so happy,” Jon mused.

Tim chuckled behind him. “You know, if you were around more, you might know what that looked like.”

Jon huffed, “If I were around more, he’d have less reason to look happy.”

Tim flicked him on the shoulder. “You idiot. You still don’t understand that we actually like you! We want you around, Martin most of all. Even when you were being a horrible brat, he kept telling us that you’d come around, that there was more there and we just had to look for it. I mean, I knew that already from Research, but you did make me start to doubt it a few times there.”

Jon didn’t know how to respond to that. He chewed on his lip and stared down into his glass. “Why? Why would he think that- about me of all people?” He looked up, but Tim just shrugged and continued to smile as he watched Martin twirl Emma around him.

“Because he sees the best in everyone despite- or hell probably because most people don’t take the time to do the same for him. Because...well, because he’s Martin.” Tim gestured at him as if that would explain it all. Jon thought about the soft smiles, the warm cups of tea, and the boxes of biscuits that always just seemed to be there when he needed them. Perhaps it did.

“That he is,” Jon replied with a smile.

This time it was Tim that arched an eyebrow at him. “Wasn’t that long ago you let everyone know just how bad you thought that was. Has that changed?”

Jon took a large drink. “Well, as you just established, I am a bit of an idiot. So yes, I have had to reevaluate my assessment.”

Tim clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s about damn time! Also, for fuck’s sake, finish that drink. How are you still talking like that?”

“It’s how I talk.”

“I’m really glad we didn’t add scowling to the game. We’d all be in the hospital by now,” Sasha teased.

“It’s not a scowl. I just don’t understand what’s wrong with how I talk. It’s not anger; it’s confusion.”

“Then you spend an awful lot of time confused, Jon.” Tim high-fived Sasha for this astute observation.

Jon should probably have been offended. Instead he just snorted, “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“Oh, I like drunk Jon!” Tim declared loudly.

“I am not…” Jon trailed off as his attention was pulled away by the change in music. Or more precisely one of the voices that was now belting out “Tainted Love.” He turned toward the stage without finishing his thought.

“Oh! I’ve never seen him voluntarily sing!” Tim stood up in the booth and began to whistle and catcall. Martin flipped him off but was trying not to laugh while singing. Sasha leaned over Jon’s shoulders so she could get a better look. Martin waved at her when she started shouting too. Martin’s eyes flicked down to Jon before he turned back to Emma with a smile and a blush. It was only then that Jon realized he was grinning.

A noise off to the side pulled Jon’s attention away from the stage, and he turned towards the laughter coming from the back of the room. He spotted a small group of men sitting around one of the tables. He instantly recognized Stuart, and the others looked vaguely familiar from the Institute. The source of their amusement was glaringly obvious as Stuart did a crude impression of someone singing, wrists limp and flapping about dramatically. Jon’s eyes snapped to Martin, but luckily he seemed to be too absorbed in his performance with Emma to notice. His heart was pounding as the anger built in him. _How dare they!_ Martin was having fun- and was doing a damn good job!- and these assholes thought that they could-

He glanced around himself quickly. He needed to stop them before Martin saw. He wouldn’t let them ruin this. He spotted Sasha’s still half-full glass of red wine and snatched it out of her hand, ignoring her cry of protest. He grabbed his own drink as he stood and started to weave his way over to the group. None of them noticed his approach; so he didn’t bother to even fake a stumble. He just tossed the contents of both glasses onto Stuart’s face and chest.

“Terribly sorry. Must have tripped.” He set the glasses down on the table and grabbed a napkin just as Stuart started sputtering. He tried to rise, but Jon pressed the napkin against the stain on his shirt with enough force to push him back into the chair. He clamped his hand down painfully on Stuart’s shoulder. “I hate to have disturbed you. It looked like you were thoroughly enjoying my friend’s performance.”

Stuart blanched, and he swallowed thickly. “Look, we were just having a laugh. Wasn’t personal or-” He went silent as Jon arched an eyebrow severely at him. 

Jon patted the napkin against his shirt a couple of times without breaking eye contact. “You know, I don’t think this is going to come out easily. Perhaps you should get out of here so you can get something on it.”

Jon noticed several of the other men at the table stand and shift closer to him. This seemed to embolden Stuart, and Jon had to step back quickly as he rose to his feet. He had a good six inches on Jon and apparently thought that he could use this to his advantage. Jon had been dealing with taller men attempting to intimidate him for the majority of his life though and gave the guy a thoroughly unimpressed sneer before stepping in close to him again.

“This is a public bar, Jon. You can’t ask me to leave.”

“Oh, I’m not asking.”

He watched the chest in front of his face puff out. “Not your place-”

Jon didn’t flinch as Tim spoke up from right over his shoulder. “It is my party though, and it is my buddy’s place. So one word from me, and he’d be more than happy to make sure you not only leave tonight but that you don’t drink here ever again.”

Stuart had fallen back a step. “Tim, look, man, we weren’t doing anything. I mean come on, you know me.”

“No, what I know is that my mate is up there on the stage having a grand time, and some asshole that I barely know from my old department thought that he could make fun of him for that. As if you are even close to the same level of cool that Martin is. So how about you take Jon’s advice and get the hell out now before this gets ugly?”

“And if you decide to stay, we could always finish this conversation in HR on Monday morning, where we can have a long talk about the disturbingly homophobic behavior we witnessed from all of you tonight.” Jon’s grin widened as Sasha stepped up beside him, hands planted on her hips as she looked around at the group of men. They all glanced nervously at each other as the threat of her words sank in. There were several glares levelled their way, but none of them risked protesting too loudly as they gathered their things and headed toward the door. 

Jon was just letting out his breath in relief when Sasha and Tim both grabbed him in a tight hug. 

“Boss! That was awesome!” Tim held his fist up, and Jon stared at it for a moment before awkwardly tapping his own against it.

“Maybe you should go with them to discourage any last minute trouble before they make it to the door?”

Tim was still laughing at his pathetic attempt at a fist bump, but he nodded, heading off after the group of men. Jon leaned forward and picked up the glasses from the table. “I’ll get us refills for these if you want to go back to the table so no one snatches it.” Sasha was grinning at him when he turned back to her. He looked at her suspiciously. “What?” 

“I’m just trying to imagine Jonathan Sims in a bar brawl.”

“Honestly, it wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“What?! You have to tell that story!”

Jon smiled back at her. “How about we save that one for the next time we all go out?”

“Just tell me: did you win?”

“Of course not! I was a scrawny little English Lit major, but I at least made sure the guy would think twice before saying something so crass again.”

She turned back towards their booth, laughing the whole way. Jon headed to the crowded bar. He found a gap in the barstools and pushed his way into it. The bartender (Dan?) spotted him and came over. Jon handed over the glasses and ordered. As he reached for his wallet, the bartender waved him off. 

“On the house. I saw what you did over there. Thanks for getting those assholes out of here for me.”

Jon was too surprised to do anything but nod at him. Before he walked off to get the drinks, he reached out and took another glass that had been set on the counter next to Jon. 

“Thanks.” Jon looked up to find Martin there, face tilted down toward him. He was close enough that Jon had to tip his head back sharply to look at his face. It made him nervous in a way that the previous man’s looming never could have accomplished. 

“For what?” When Martin just continued staring at him, his shoulders slumped , and he turned to stare down at his hands on the bar. “I was rather hoping you had missed that.”

“Missed you defending my honor?”

Jon scoffed. “Those jackasses could never touch your honor, Martin.”

He could just see the way Martin’s cheeks colored at this out of the corner of his eye. “Well, I’m glad you think so. But still thank you.”

Jon watched the bartender pour easily three times the amount of rum that Tim had been using in Martin’s drinks and then a double shot of Crown into his own glass. He took a deep breath and met Martin’s eyes again. When Jon smiled, he returned it easily. “You’re welcome. I just didn’t want something so juvenile to ruin your night. I’m glad you don’t seem to be letting it.”

Martin shrugged. “I grew up a poor, fat, gay kid. My whole life has been guys like that. I mostly just try to ignore it now. I figured out a long time ago that it’s usually more about them, and I’m just an easy target.”

Jon was scowling again, but this time it was definitely in anger. “That doesn’t excuse their behavior. They don’t know anything about you.”

“No, but I can’t control their actions. I can decide how I let it make me feel though. At that moment, I was having fun, and my friends were enjoying it. So fuck ‘em.”

Jon was shocked into laughter. That was certainly not a sentiment he was used to hearing from the typically soft-spoken man. Martin grinned at him. Neither of them paid any attention as the drinks were set on the bar next to them. “Besides if they hadn’t been jerks, I never would have gotten to see you be a total badass.”

“I hardly think that counts-”

“Jon, you threw drinks on a guy who was easily twice your weight while he was in the middle of his cronies, and when he got in your face, not only did you not back down, you stepped up to him! It was brilliant!”

It was Jon’s turn to shrug. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of bullies too. Granted I usually opt to talk my way out of situations like that, but I have to say, I was a bit too pissed off for that this time.”

Martin’s eyes widened before he looked quickly down. “Thank you again, Jon. It was really nice of you to call them out like that.” Jon could just see the slight curl of a smile on his lips. “Can’t say that I saw _you_ almost getting in a fistfight over someone talking bad about me being on the list of things that would happen tonight.”

_Oh._

Jon clutched the edge of the bar tightly and tried to make his mouth work to respond- to apologize, to beg for forgiveness for being such an idiot. He’d been so righteously indignant about their ridicule, but had his really been all that different? Hell, it felt worse. They had made fun of surface features that had nothing to do with who Martin really was. He’d questioned the man’s intelligence many times, loudly and publicly. He was just starting to work himself into a proper panic when he saw a large hand reach out tentatively and touch his forearm.

“Jon?” He flinched, but continued staring at the fingers resting just above his wrist. “Jon, will you look at me?”

Slowly, his eyes drifted up to look at Martin through his lashes. Martin’s brow was pulled down in concern, but he gave Jon a cautious, lop-sided smile and hunched down so that he could see him better. “It was just a joke, okay? I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s fine really; I’m sorry I said it.”

Jon shook his head in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing? To me no less?”

“Because I said something that hurt you, and I didn’t mean to.”

“You apologize immediately after saying one thing that was completely deserved, and yet I can’t- after months- after _what_ I said...God, Martin, I’m-”

They both jumped as someone cleared their throat loudly next to them. Jon looked up to see that a small line had formed waiting to get to the one open spot at the bar to place an order. The bartender was also standing there smiling at them as he waited to get the orders of the people they were blocking. The girl at the front of the line who had made the noise was not someone he recognized from work. “I get that you two are having a moment, but could you maybe have it somewhere else?”

They both started stuttering out apologies as they grabbed the drinks and fled. They had to weave their way through the crowd, which meant Jon was stuck behind Martin the whole way back to their table and never got a chance to finish what he’d been saying. Tim and Sasha were sitting across from each other again, deep in some discussion. Martin leaned into the booth and pressed a quick kiss to Sasha’s cheek. Jon could just hear him whisper a soft thanks over the music. He moved out of Jon’s way and started to sit down, but Tim scooted to the edge to take the space. “What Sasha gets one but not me? I was ready to throw down for you, Marto. I deserve-”

Martin rolled his eyes and ducked in to kiss Tim’s cheek as well. “There. Happy?”

“Oh, that is the highlight of my whole night, buddy.” He grinned suggestively at Martin, and Jon shook his head as he moved toward the other side of the booth. He had caught Tim’s eye though, and he watched the grin shift into something mischievous. “Though if you’re handing out kisses for heroic deeds, Jon definitely deserves one. He did most of it.”

Jon froze in the process of holding Sasha’s wine out to her. She tugged, but his hand was still clamped around it. She was trying to hold back her smile while he was in full panic mode. He only realized that Martin had also frozen beside him when the other man suddenly burst into motion, waving off Tim’s statement and stuttering out what seemed to be actual words. It took Jon a moment to realize he was stammering that Jon would never be interested in such foolishness.

“Who says?” He watched Sasha’s eyebrows shoot up. Martin had gone completely still again. He straightened back up and turned to Martin, whose eyes were slowly shifting to look at him. He’d already started this; so, “I mean it would only be fair since they both got one.”

Martin blinked at him a few times. “Jon, you don’t have-” His words cut off as Jon tilted his chin to present his cheek better. He was wide-eyed and blushing, but he still leaned in toward Jon. 

It was barely a second, the scratch of light stubble against his own, a faint whiff of rum and lavender shampoo, and then the barest brush of soft lips that were slightly damp. It left a hint of moisture on his cheek that felt cool against his burning skin. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he blinked them open slowly. Martin had ducked his head and sat down quickly next to Tim.

“There! Now that we’ve all been graced with Martin’s sweet kisses, you two can help me convince Sasha how wrong she is about this!” Tim launched into stating his case about some subject Jon couldn’t even begin to follow ( _Did he just say something about trifles and tarts?_ ).

“Jon?” Sasha smiled at him and reached out for her wine.

 _Oh, god!_ He was still just standing there. He jerked forward and slid into the seat next to her. She leaned in as she took the glass and whispered, “Breathe, Jon.”

He did and then promptly took a large swig from his drink. She grinned at him and then seamlessly shifted into countering Tim’s point. Jon tried to work out the references, but they seemed to be going on about something involving people named Mary, Sandi, and, ridiculously, Paul Hollywood. Martin seemed interested and interjected with support for Sasha’s side of whatever this argument was. Tim was mortally offended. Jon settled into the bench a little deeper and let his head rest against the back of the booth while he watched the three of them debate...baking maybe? He had a feeling he’d be just as confused by this conversation if he was entirely sober. Mostly he just listened to their voices. It had been a very long time since he’d had a group of friends. Hell, it had been years since he’d had more than just the one.

It took a few moments for him to realize that his eyes had settled on a slow, repetitive motion. Martin was tracing a finger idly along the rim of his empty glass. Jon hadn’t even seen him take a drink from it. Perhaps he’d downed it while Jon was still standing there like a dazed idiot. He let his mind wander from the continued heated discussion as his eyes tracked the movement.

He’d always liked Martin’s hands. Even when he’d thought he felt nothing but disdain for the man, he’d found himself staring at them often. His hands were large, palms nearly as big as Jon’s entire hand. Yet Martin was careful in all things he did. When he’d first heard Martin would be joining his staff, Jon had expected a bumbling fool, who would be a menace to the precariously stacked boxes of chaos he’d inherited. Instead, he’d watched the large man weave his way through the tight stacks with a cautious precision that seemed completely at odds with his fidgeting and stammering when Jon had tried to talk to him. In fact, Martin seemed just as bothered by the hazardous maze as Jon, and he’d come in one morning to find that Martin had stayed late the night before to restack nearly the entire document storage into far more stable configurations. Hell, Jon had been the first one to back into a mound of boxes and send it toppling to the floor, taking out two other stacks on its way down. Martin had nearly been in a panic as he helped gather the mess of spilled documents and crushed boxes. After that he’d noticed how Martin would unconsciously move a stack of folders further from the edge of a desk or restack the dishes in the drain in the breakroom so they’d be less likely to tumble to the floor. His hands had been just as deft the few times Jon had felt his touch feather-light on his shoulder or elbow to pull him out of whatever spiral his mind had sent him down.

The one time Martin’s hands had been anything but gentle with him had actually been the catalyst for his acceptance of his infatuation. He’d asked for Martin’s help reorganizing some sections in document storage. Georgie had by this point finally made him see that he was projecting his frustrations onto Martin and had never given him a fair chance. He’d still been steadfastly refusing to acknowledge even the possibility that her other theory about his feelings for Martin could be true. He’d fully intended to use the moment away from the other assistants to apologize to Martin and try to set things straight.

Then he’d lost his footing. One minute he’d been stretching up on the top of the step ladder to reach a box that had been pushed back from the edge of a high shelf, and then he was tipping forward only to be snatched backwards with disorienting speed. The last time he’d looked Martin had been several feet away, pulling boxes off a different shelf- without the need of a ladder of course. Yet he found himself somehow safely back on the ground, clutched to Martin’s chest from behind, with a hands large enough to span almost his whole rib cage splayed across his chest.

“Careful.” Martin sounded breathless, and Jon shivered as the whisper stirred the hairs by his ear. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that had emerged was a humiliating squeak. Martin had apparently misinterpreted the sound as indignant outrage, because he stepped away quickly, stammering out apologies. Jon had turned and looked up at the same ginger curls and bright green eyes that had always been there, but this time he realized it was them that made his heart beat erratically, not some imagined irritation. In light of this revelation, he’d done the only logical thing he could: he retreated to his office, literally climbed under his desk, and called Georgie in a panic. He’d been dodging Martin ever since.

His eyebrows pulled down as he looked closer. Something had changed since the last time he’d allowed himself to be in a room with Martin long enough to notice his hands. Martin’s nails had always been trimmed short, blunt and neat, but now they had been chewed until they were ragged. In some places, it looked like he had bitten at them until the skin of his fingertips was raw and scabbed.

Jon let his eyes trail up his forearms. Now that he was looking closer, he could pick out the numerous small scars scattered amongst the freckles. Most were tiny knicks or scratches that spoke of physical labors, but he also had a fairly nasty burn scar on the inside of his left arm, just below the crook of his elbow. Jon’s fingers clutched tighter around his own glass as he fought down the surprising sudden desire to know how the smooth skin of the scar felt. He forced his eyes away and to the large upper arms. As he’d noted earlier, Martin was soft, but the t-shirt highlighted something that his cozy sweaters and loose henleys hid well. He’d known that Martin was strong from the way he’d been snatched so easily from midfall, but watching the shift of the muscles under the worn cotton was something else entirely. He begrudgingly accepted that Sasha had been right about his ‘type’ as his gaze lingered on the broad chest that seemed the perfect mix of strong and inviting.

His lips were chapped and looked perhaps like he had been worrying them with his teeth as well. His cheeks were flushed a bright red, somewhat obscuring the multitude of freckles that peppered his cheeks and nose. He had been all smiles and laughter tonight, but Jon could make out the purplish tint of the bags under his eyes even in the dim bar lights. Something had been keeping Martin up at night and making him anxious enough to chew through the skin of his bottom lip and each of his fingernails.

The concern bloomed in his chest, and his gaze flicked up...to meet Martin’s as he stared back at him. Even as he panicked, he knew there was no point in looking away. He’d been caught, but surprisingly, Martin didn’t look as if it was unwelcome. There was just enough interest lighting up his face that Jon allowed himself a moment to examine the other man’s eyes, something he’d always been too cautious to do before. The pupils were wide in the low light, but the bright green irises were still visible. Jon could just make out the specks of brown around their outer edges. They were beautiful.

Martin was beautiful.

As they stared at each other, Jon realized Sasha had been right about something else as well. He was worth the risk. He wanted to know what it felt like to have Martin smile at him every day the way he had tonight. He wanted to know what was causing him such worry and what to say to make it better for him and what it would be like to run his fingertips over the various scars and muscles. It had been so long since he had _wanted_ anything like this, anyone like this; he felt breathless and dizzy with it. For the first time, he allowed himself to hope just a little that perhaps Martin felt the same. He hadn’t looked away yet; he was still gazing back at Jon, seemingly just as enthralled.

He was going to tell Martin how he felt. Not tonight of course; he didn’t want to have this conversation when they’d both been drinking. But soon. If it turned out that the feelings weren’t reciprocated, it would be okay, disappointing but not humiliating. Because the one thing he knew for certain already was that Martin was kind. Decision made, he inhaled deeply and felt that tight knot he’d been carrying in his chest for weeks loosen with the exhale. Something must have changed in his expression, because Martin’s eyes widened in wonder. Jon couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face at this. His heart stuttered as Martin returned it. He vaguely noticed Tim lean over, but he didn’t fully register it until Martin jumped in surprise when Tim whispered in his ear. Tim’s glass was jarred, and most of its contents splashed across Martin’s chest. Jon flinched as several drops landed on his face.

Martin shot to his feet, gasping at the cold liquid soaking through his shirt. Jon grabbed the few napkins on the table and stood to help him.

“Here, I can-” at the same time as “Jon, you don’t have to-” overlapped as Jon tried to help dry the shirt, but somehow only seemed to make the wet patch bigger. Martin kept stammering that it was okay, but Jon continued to press the damp paper against his chest. He froze as Martin’s hands wrapped around his wrists, stilling his frantic movements with his fingers splayed firmly across the taller man’s rib cage. He felt both of Martin’s arms jerk as he seemed to realize the touch he’d just initiated, but he didn’t let go. Slowly, Jon’s chin tilted up to look into Martin’s face...which was _entirely_ too close. Martin’s eyes darted back and forth between his own, but then he went a bit cross-eyed as his focus shifted to Jon’s nose.

“Oh! You’ve got a bit of- on your nose there- um, here, let me.”

One hand shifted from his wrist to pull the napkins out of Jon’s grip. Jon closed his eyes quickly as Martin wiped the wet napkin down his face. Martin took one look at his mildly disgusted, scrunched up expression and barked out a single laugh. His other hand released Jon as he covered his mouth in shock, staring down at him like he expected anger in response. Instead, Jon felt the grin slowly spread across his face. Then they were both laughing. Martin had his head thrown back, and Jon bent slightly forward, hands still resting on Martin’s chest to keep his balance. Jon was just starting to recover when he looked up to see Sasha and Tim, both with their chins resting in their palms watching them with amusement. Christ, his life had become some cheesy romcom in a matter of hours. He reached up and snatched the wad of napkins from Martin’s hand and threw it at Tim’s face.

“Oh, for fuck’s- if you’re going to make a mess of Martin, the least you could do is go find him a proper towel.” Tim was still grinning even as he peeled the disintegrating mess off his face. He whispered loudly to Sasha as he moved toward the end of the booth. 

“He’s awfully bossy for someone off the clock.”

“Then stop calling me boss!”

Tim slipped between him and Martin as he stood from the bench, causing the larger man to take a quick step back. Tim leaned in close to him as he passed. “And for the record, I don’t think I’m the one making Martin a mess tonight.” He winked, and then he was gone into the crowd. Jon ran a hand over his face and grimaced as it came away sticky.

“I’m going to go clean up before this dries.” He headed for the bathroom and tried very hard not to notice how Martin watched him walk away.

There was a line, and it took him longer than expected to make his way back. He was walking past the bar to head to the booth they’d claimed when Tim grabbed his shoulder. He pushed a towel into Jon’s hand.

“Hey, Boss, something came up that I need to handle. Can you take this to Martin?” Jon nodded, and when Tim glanced back over his shoulder, he spotted Emily ( _no, but that’s close_ ) waiting by the door of the pub. She appeared to be holding Tim’s leather jacket in her arms. Jon arched an eyebrow at him, but to his surprise, Tim did not respond with a cocky grin or any sort of salacious teasing. He shrugged a bit shyly, especially for Tim, and didn’t comment on his plans. “Listen, watch out for him, okay? I don’t know how many he had when he ran off earlier, so...You’ll take care of him for me?”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got him.”

Tim squeezed his shoulder and surprised Jon again by pulling him in for a quick hug. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Boss. I’ve missed you.”

Jon sucked in a breath and held on just a moment longer. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

But when Tim pulled back, the serious expression had been replaced by his usual care-free smirk. “Tell me when you’re sober. _Then_ maybe we can talk about how you’re going to make up for all these weeks of being an uptight prick.”

He had turned and headed for the door before Jon could work out a response. Emma ( _that’s the one_ ) smiled at him and handed him the coat as he held the door for her. Jon watched the door for a moment before remembering the towel in his hand.

He spotted Martin sitting alone in their booth. Sasha was nowhere in sight. Martin’s head was tilted down, but he appeared to be looking at something much further off than his fidgeting hands. He jumped a little when Jon tapped him on the shoulder, but his face brightened when he looked up at him. “Hey, I thought you might have snuck out.” His speech sounded a bit more slurred than it had earlier.

“No such luck. Tim got side-tracked; so I brought this. Scooch over and turn this way.” Jon slid into the space Martin cleared and twisted awkwardly in the booth so that he was somewhat facing him. Martin blinked slowly at him while Jon started to press the towel to the wet shirt. “Are you alright, Martin?”

Martin chewed on his lip. “I think I should have stuck to letting Tim mix my drinks.” Jon glanced up at him, and Martin smiled. “He thinks I don’t notice. I never said anything ‘cause it’s nice to have someone looking out for me.”

Jon’s eyes lingered on his face for a moment before looking back down to where his hands were still working. “Well, you certainly deserve it with how much of your time you spend taking care of other people...even the ones who haven’t earned it. I’m glad- He’s a good friend to have.”

“He is. He tries to keep me from getting myself in trouble.”

“Well, sorry to tell you, but I believe we’ve seen the last of Mr. Stoker for the evening.”

Martin snorted. “Figures he’d disappear on me now.”

Jon had pulled the shirt away from Martin’s skin and was squeezing it in the towel to try to get more of the liquid out of it. So he might have been a bit distracted by the small glimpse of ginger chest-hair he got as the V-neck stretched when he asked, “Why? Are you planning on getting into some trouble?”

“Could be,” Martin’s voice was quiet and a little breathless. Jon froze as he felt fingertips brush against his forehead and down his temple as Martin tucked a bit of his hair that had come loose behind his ear. Before he could work up the courage to look up, Martin’s face turned away from him, chin tucking in against his shoulder like he was already flinching for the rejection. “S-sorry, I sh-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Seeing Martin expecting cruelty made him want to be all the more gentle. He let his fingers rest lightly on the back on Martin’s hand on the table. “I didn’t mind...It’s just there are some things you really should be sober for.”

Martin peeked at him out of the corner of his eye and slowly cracked a smile. “And we are not.”

Jon chuckled. “No, we definitely are not.” He looked down at Martin’s shirt. “Sorry, that’s about the best I’m going to be able to do.”

“It’s alright.” Martin shrugged and ran a hand over his face. “It’s probably time to call it a night anyway.”

“Not a bad idea for either of us. Should we find Sasha to let her know?” Jon wobbled only a little as he pushed back off the bench and stood. Before he could think too much of it, he held out a hand to help Martin up.

“No, she left while you were gone. Said to tell you ‘it was a damn fine start’, whatever that means.” Martin stared at Jon’s hand for several seconds before slowly enveloping it in his own. “Her boyfriend finished work so she went to meet up with him and his mates.”

Jon smiled as the warmth spread through him. Well, at least he had not let Sasha down tonight, nor Tim it seemed from the parting they’d had. Speaking of the two of them…

“I didn’t realize she was seeing anyone.”

“Not sure if it’s official or anything, but they’ve been dating for a month or so.”

“Huh, I guess I kind of assumed something was going on between her and Tim...though I would certainly hope not given the nature of what dragged him away from his own party.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started on those two. The only people who know less about what is going on between them is _them_. Umm...Jon?”

“Hmm?”

Martin glanced down at their still joined hands.

“Oh! Right! Ready?”

Martin nodded, and Jon tugged. Overall, it went surprisingly well. He didn’t get pulled down onto Martin, and the larger man stayed relatively stable on his feet. At least until he tried to take his first step, which somehow ended up moving him more sideways than forward. Jon reached out and grabbed his shoulders. 

“Sorry. I need a minute to...been awhile since I stood up. Just give me a second.”

Jon tucked himself under Martin’s arm and found that unfamiliar wide grin shining down at him when he glanced up. “What?”

“You know if I go down I’m just going to take you with me.”

Jon flushed but gripped Martin’s wrist hanging over his shoulder tighter. “Well, let’s try to make sure that doesn’t happen then. Should we try another step?”

This one went considerably better between the two of them. The next required less effort from Jon as Martin seemed to be adjusting. They both nearly fell as Jon took a step towards the door at the same time that Martin moved towards the bar. They grabbed at each other as they wobbled and finally settled with both of them gripping the other’s upper arms.

“Where are you going?” 

“I’m not going anywhere near the bathrooms at the Tube station; so better go here.”

“Ah, good idea. Can you…?”

Martin was blushing again. “I think I can manage getting to the loo on my own. Are you leaving now?”

Martin bit at his lip, and Jon let himself imagine for a moment that maybe Martin didn’t want him to go yet. “No- I can wait for you. I’ll, uh, be at the end of the bar near the door.” His heart did a strange flip-flopping in his chest when Martin’s face perked up at that.

“I’ll be right back.”

He definitely watched Martin go this time, but it was _strictly_ to make sure he didn’t fall. He made his way through the slowly thinning crowd toward the door. Before he got to the bar, he spotted Martin’s jacket on one of the pegs on the wall just inside the door, the familiar blue peeking out from under a heavy bomber coat. He pulled it carefully down and rehung the other. Like most of Martin’s clothes, it looked like perhaps it should have been replaced a couple of years ago. It was one of the things he’d added to his list of reasons why Martin was unfit and unprofessional when he’d still been angry at Elias and punishing his assistant for it. Now, it was just part of the man. Tonight might have been the longest he’d seen Martin go without tugging on sleeves or pulling at the strings from frayed hems. 

He folded the soft material over his arm and moved back to the bar. Martin wore his anxiety in every movement and twitch while Jon buried it under condescension and derision, lashing out to take the focus off himself so no one would see him for the exhausted, terrified mess he truly was. He leaned his back to the wooden counter and sighed heavily. He hated that he’d felt some sort of pride in that at the beginning, like he was winning because he could hide the fear while being able to push Martin to project every bit of his. 

_Christ, how can Sasha think this is a good idea? I would be terrible for him-_

He was pulled from his thoughts as he realized someone was hovering near him, quite closely. He leaned back over the bar, trying to pull away to look up the intruder. There was a man standing there with a hip propped against the bar, as close as he could get to Jon without actually touching him. He thought he might have been one of the group that had called Tim up to join them on the stage. He was taller than Jon and smiled somewhat coyly down at him.

“That looks like far too much thinking for this late in the night.”

“Not sure how that is any of your business.”

He laughed and held up his hands. “Whoa, I just came to make conversation.”

“Do I know you?”

“I’m rather hoping the answer to that is ‘not yet’.”

Jon scowled. 

“Look, it seemed like you were about to leave and then changed your mind. I noticed you earlier- that was a hell of a performance by the way- and thought I’d take a shot that maybe you came back to look for some company.”

“I’m just waiting for my friend to be done.”

“Then what’s the harm in chatting while you wait?”

Jon pursed his lips. He didn’t want to be a complete asshole to a friend of Tim’s, when technically the man, so far, hadn’t done more than not take a hint the first time it was offered. “I suppose nothing.”

The blonde man grinned at him. “I promise I won’t bite. Can’t say I was expecting dancing like that from someone dressed like one of my old professors.”

“You _must_ be a friend of Tim’s,” Jon said, rolling his eyes.

“We met in uni when we were both flirting with the same teacher.”

“That’s rather inappropriate.”

The guy shrugged and leaned a little closer to Jon. “Guess I’m just a sucker for that academic look.”

Jon was still trying to figure out the purpose of this conversation when he felt a tug on the jacket in his arms. He looked over to see that Martin was close, but definitely respecting his space more than the other guy. He was struck by how nothing about him looked soft now. He was glaring at the stranger, mouth pressed into a thin line and back ramrod straight, stretched up to his full height. 

It was quite intimidating and...distracting. “Ah, this is my Martin- ah, my friend Martin.” _Ugh, v_ _ery smooth._

He tugged harder and took the jacket without looking at Jon. “It’s a long trip home. I’m just going to head out.” Jon stared blankly after him.

_What the hell just happened?_

“Wait!” he called, but the door was already swinging shut behind Martin. He started to push off from the bar to follow when the stranger reached out and plucked the pin from Jon’s hair, sending it tumbling over his shoulders.

“This is pretty.”

Jon scowled darkly at him and snatched the pin back. “I never said you could touch me.” He hurried to the door and threw it open. “Martin, wait!”

Martin had just made it to the bottom of the stairs. He started to turn to the left, but there was a large group of people there, many from the Institute, smoking and chatting in the cool night air. He frowned and turned the other way. Jon descended the steps quickly after him. “Just go back in; It’s fine. I’m going to head home.”

“I thought we both were. Why are you-”

“Look, Jon,” Martin started angrily, but when he spun to face him, he lost his balance. Jon lurched forward to grab his arm to steady him. Martin leaned back against the low iron fence that surrounded the pub’s small patio and stared down at where Jon was touching him before continuing in a more subdued tone. “You don’t have to do this. I’m fine. So if this is just you being nice to me because of what you heard Tim say today, please don’t.”

“What did Tim say to me today?”

Martin looked up at him quickly. “What you overheard…”

“I’m not sure what exactly I’m supposed to have heard, but I’m not being nice to you because of anything Tim did or didn’t say.”

Martin seemed...relieved perhaps? He shook his head and gently pulled his arm out of Jon’s grasp. “It’s not important. But really, you should go back inside. I’ll be fine.”

Jon was still lost. “Why would I go back inside? We were leaving.”

“Because when you decided to leave, there wasn’t a guy hitting on you.”

“Good lord, is that what he was doing?”

Martin laughed a bit helplessly at that. “Yes, Jon, that very attractive man was trying to pick you up, and now that you know-”

“Martin, I don’t care if he was, and honestly I didn’t notice if he was attractive or not.” He scoffed, but Jon stepped a little closer to him. “Why would I care even if he was good-looking? I had no reason to look at him when I was waiting to see you.”

It took a few tries for Martin to manage, “Are you sure?”

Jon smiled at the expression on his face, a strange mix of disbelieving and hopeful. “I’d much rather be out here saying goodnight to you than interacting anymore with that complete stranger.”

“Oh...I... _sober_.” That last part Jon just barely caught as he seemed to be whispering a reminder to himself. Martin watched him for a moment before huffing out a loud sigh. “Speaking of ‘goodnight’, I’d probably better get started. It’s going to take awhile to get home.”

“Wait, are you actually planning on taking the Tube all that way when you are this drunk?”

“No other options. A cab would be way too expensive from here.”

“Well, then you’re definitely not going by yourself.”

“Jon, don’t be silly. You live way closer and in the opposite direction. You’re not going to ride with me.”

“Well, we have to figure out something, because I’m not letting you go alone.”

“I’m fine really.”

“Uh huh...and are you aware that you’re currently tilting at about a 30 degree angle and you’re about to fall?”

Martin flailed to catch his balance. “Okay. You may have a point.”

_Well, he could- NO, don’t you dare open your mouth-_

“I do have a couch. It’s actually quite comfortable.”

As Sasha stated earlier, he seemed to have broken Martin again. He wasn’t sure how long it took Martin to respond, but it was enough time for him to start fidgeting.

“You’d let me sleep on your couch?”

“Of course. I mean the other option is that I could sleep on yours-”

“No!” Martin cut in quickly. “It’s just yours is closer, and my couch is the opposite of comfortable.”

“Alright, that settles it. You are coming home with me.”

And of course, _of course_ , this was when the other group noticed them. There were a few raised eyebrows and scandalized faces from the people who recognized them.

_Well, shit._

“Hang on. Let me get a taxi.” Jon leaned back against the fence next to Martin and pulled out his phone. Luckily the pub was just off of a main thoroughfare, and a car was only a few minutes away. He sent the call for it. He didn’t have to look up to know that Martin was watching him; he could feel the gaze on him.

“You’re staring.”

“I am.” Not a question, just a matter-of-fact confession. Jon’s cheeks colored.

“Any particular reason?”

“Lots of them. Am I not allowed to stare? Not very fair that you get to, and I don’t. You’re way better looking than me; if either of us should get to stare, it should be me.”

“Well, that’s just untrue.”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself? Those eyes and-”

“Martin, I wasn’t insinuating that I was unattractive.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jon watched Martin’s face as he slowly forced his muddled brain to sort out his meaning. The moment he caught it his eyes went wide. He ducked his head, but Jon was just short enough to still see the grin he was trying to hide. He was quickly discovering just how much he enjoyed making Martin smile like that.

“It’s your hair,” Martin said quietly. Jon reached up and only then realized he’d never put it back up. He’d tucked the pin in his back pocket and forgotten it. “It’s just I’ve only ever seen it down a couple of times and then only long enough for you to adjust it. I didn’t realize how much of it there was. You should wear it down more often...I like it.”

“It’s usually just in the way at work, but I will keep that in mind.” He shifted just a little closer on the rail, and they waited the rest of the short time in comfortable silence.

A car pulled up to the curb, and Martin chuckled, “Well, this should be interesting.”

It was perhaps the smallest cab Jon had ever seen. “I- I didn’t check…”

Martin pushed off the rail. “This is fine. Just lead the way.”

In the end, it was in fact fine. Martin’s knees were almost at his chest, and he had to leave one foot in Jon’s floorboard. But it was fine. It was certainly not an issue that Jon had no choice but to be pressed against the entire side of Martin’s body. Jon heard him mutter something and then lean even further into his space. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. "Forgot to let Emma know I was leaving. Don't want her to worry." He typed out a quick text. Jon started to tell him that she'd left already, but between the alcohol and the driver’s erratic path through the late night traffic, he found himself getting a little car sick. He closed his eyes and leaned forward. The fact that it smelled like the driver had bathed in body spray wasn’t helping the situation.

“Jon? Are you okay?”

“Hey, mate, try not to hurl in my car, right? Thought it’d be the big guy, honestly.”

Jon grunted and kept his head down. “Maybe try to keep it on four wheels then.”

The cabbie just laughed. He felt Martin’s hand settle on his back and then begin to move in slow, small circles. “S’ok?”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s...don’t stop that, yeah?” He felt Martin’s chuckle vibrate through him where they were pressed together.

“You got it"

The sensation was enough to distract him from the motion of the car, and the rest of the trip passed quickly. The cab came to a screeching halt by the curb, and Jon climbed out immediately. He sucked in a few deep breaths of the cool air and felt the nausea recede. He turned and ducked to help Martin out of the tiny car. It was close a few times, but they managed to get Martin’s legs under him and back to standing without either of them ending up on the ground. The cabbie took off the moment Jon nudged the car door shut.

Not for the first time, Jon was thankful that his building had a lift. He hated to think just how badly the two of them stumbling up three flights of stairs could go. Martin shook his head a bit disbelievingly once they were in the small space. “God, it’d be nice to have one of these. I’m on the sixth floor.”

“That many stories and they’ve only got stairs? That’s just criminal.”

“I’m not even at the top. There’s four more above me. I know a lady who lives on nine who’s got twins who aren’t walking yet. She carries that double-stroller up and down every day. She tried leaving it at the bottom, chained to the bannister, but someone cut through the wood and took off with the previous one.”

“I’m betting a certain neighbor on the sixth floor helps her out fairly often.”

Martin shrugged. “It’s literally the least I could do. If I know I’ll be there when she’s going to be passing again, we store it in my place. Otherwise, I just help her up and down.”

“No, Martin, the least you could do is nothing, the same as all the other tenants above and below you when they hear her struggling. But you choose not to ignore her. Just like you choose to spend part of your salary and break time on stocking the kitchen with everyone else's favorites. Even your asshole boss’s though he’s done nothing to deserve it.”

The doors opened before Martin could answer, and Jon stepped out to lead the way down the short hall. Martin rested against the wall while Jon fumbled with his keys.

“You’re not an asshole, Jon, and kindness shouldn’t have to be earned. I just want to...I want to be kind to you.”

Jon paused as he slid the key into the lock. “Why?” he asked quietly.

“Because I think you get misunderstood a lot, and I like knowing that I’m one of the few that might actually see you. It makes me feel…”

“Special?” Jon offered, unlocking the door and turning back to Martin.

The larger man blushed at this and ducked his head again. “Guess that’s kind of silly, huh? Nothing special about me.”

This time it was Jon who shifted so that he could get back into Martin’s eyeline. “I realize that I’ve done quite a lot to reinforce that idea for you, but, well, it’s just not true. You’re wonderful, Martin, and I think you are very special...at least to me you are.”

Martin’s eyes went wide. “Why would you think that about me? Now?”

This was getting dangerously close to a conversation he didn’t want to have in this state. He needed to get them inside and safely settled so that this could be saved for the morning. He held out his hand, and to his surprise, Martin took it without hesitation. “Because I started paying attention. Now, come on.”

Once inside, Jon switched on the hall light and motioned for Martin to head further in. “I’m just going to grab some blankets for you.” He made a small noise in response, but his attention seemed to be focused on seeing more of the flat. He made his way slowly down the hall, reaching out occasionally to steady himself against the wall. Jon ducked into his bedroom.

The rest of the flat was relatively tidy. Keeping the place perpetually ready for a guest was a habit he’d picked up from his grandmother despite the fact that no one except for Georgie had ever visited him here. His bedroom was an entirely different story. This was his domain, where things simply got dropped if he was too tired or distracted to deal with them, and they would stay there until needed again. His closet could generously be described as controlled chaos. His wardrobe was stored on the first few feet of the rails on either side of the walk-in; so the floor there was mostly clear. Beyond that was simply The Pile. Flicking on the light, he immediately spotted the bedding he needed...on the top shelf at the back with no less than three feet of junk between him and his goal, piled waist high in some places.

Five minutes, a lot of cursing, and one nearly twisted ankle later, he emerged triumphant. He piled the blankets into a more manageable bundle in his arms as he headed out of the bedroom. He was only a few steps down the hall when he stumbled over something. His shoulder hit the opposite wall hard, which was the only thing that kept him from pitching to the floor.

“Oww,” he complained and shifted the blankets to see what had tripped him. Martin’s shoes were in the middle of the hall. A little further on, his socks had been abandoned. Jon’s mouth went dry as he spotted a pile of fabric at the end of the hall that looked suspiciously like the jeans that Martin had been wearing. He kept his eyes down as he continued forward. Next to the couch he saw the discarded t-shirt. If anything else had been shed, it was hidden by the furniture. He grimaced in anticipation and looked up.

The relief of seeing Martin at least still had on his boxers was almost immediately eclipsed by the actual sight of _Martin in his boxers_. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring out at the city through the large windows. He hadn’t bothered with a light so he was illuminated only by the street light flooding in through the open curtains. It made his red curls glow like a halo, and his pale skin would have been ghostly if not for the freckles that covered every visible inch of him.

And there was an awful lot of him visible.

Jon was well aware of what the world told Martin he should feel about how he looked, but despite attraction being a difficult concept for him, he thought the world was full of bloody idiots. How could anyone look at Matin and not see how handsome he was? The soft, rounded belly and thighs that gave him such an inviting look belied the strength implicit in the broad expanse of his back and the thick arms swaying slightly at his sides.

For the second time that night, Jon was almost overcome with the desire to touch. This time he gave himself a moment to actually enjoy the _want_. Forget sexual, it had been years since he’d felt anything even remotely physical for someone. After how disastrously his relationship with Robert had ended, he’d honestly resigned himself to never feeling it again. It had almost been a relief to be done with the possibility of being hurt like that.

Then Martin Blackwood had showed up in his Archives, and all of his expectations had been tossed aside. So perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised that somehow this night had ended with Martin not only in his house, but also distressingly undressed. His simple, regimented life had devolved into chaos since taking over as Head Archivist, and ridiculously, sweet, stable Martin seemed to be at the core of the pandemonium for Jon.

Martin looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, hey.” He turned to face Jon, eyes slowly tracing over him like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Jon tried to say something back, but his voice cracked so terribly he wasn’t sure if it was intelligible. He cleared his throat. “Your, um, clothes…”

“I got hot.” No shame or embarrassment, just a casual shrug.

Jon unconsciously let out a sigh of relief. He’d begun to worry that perhaps he’d given the wrong impression about what this was, and why that couldn’t happen was definitely not a conversation he wanted to have while drunk.

“Right. Well, maybe just the last bit should stay on.”

Martin looked highly offended. “Jon!” Oh, that was an all new octave for him. “I would never- Do you think I’m just going to run around your place starkers?”

Jon pressed his face into the blanket, shoulders shaking with laughter. “How silly of me. Just in your boxers is far more appropriate.”

Martin’s eyes went wide as he looked down at himself. “Shit. That was probably a really bad idea, huh? Sorry! I can-” He started looking around the floor for his clothes.

“It’s fine, really.” He stepped up to him to catch his attention. “As long as you are comfortable, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Sure?”

Jon nodded, trying very hard to not be distracted by the fact that if his chin wasn’t tipped upwards he’d be eye level with a nipple.

“Um, Jon? Is that supposed to be the couch?”

“Yes, it’s-” And that was when he realized his miscalculation. His only-slightly-larger-than-a-loveseat couch was perfect for someone his height who usually slept curled up anyway. But Martin… “I didn’t think about how tall you are. I’m sorry. Why don’t you take the bed, and I’ll sleep out here?”

“Absolutely not! I’m not letting you take the couch when you offered me a place to sleep.”

“Mar-”

“Not going to happen. I’ll be fine. It looks very cozy.”

Jon frowned. “If you’re sure? I’m sorry-” He looked up at Martin, who was closer now than he remembered him being a moment ago. He was leaning slightly towards Jon, face inclined over his. He swallowed thickly and licked his lips nervously. Martin’s eyes traced the movement, and his nostrils flared.

“Are you thinking about kissing me?”

It took him a moment to realize it had been his own voice that asked the question.

Martin huffed out a low laugh, and he was close enough that the warm air ghosted over Jon’s cheeks. “I usually am.”

He felt light-headed as the shock of that statement moved through him...only to be brought crashing down a moment later.

“But I don’t want to kiss you.”

Martin straightened and ran a hand over his face. He took the bundle out of Jon’s arms and spent a few moments spreading the blankets out into a makeshift bed. Jon just stood there numbly watching him. How had he misread things so badly? Dammit, why had he listened to Sasha? He should have known better than to let himself hope for this.

Martin sat down on the couch and pulled one of the blankets over his lap. He only looked up at him after he had reached out and taken one of Jon’s hands in his. Jon watched as the large fingers traced lightly along his bony knuckles. “Like you said earlier, there are things you really need to be sober for.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath, and the sound made Martin’s lips curl into a warm smile.

“I know I’ll be embarrassed by...most of it probably, but I really hope I don’t forget all of this tomorrow. I want to remember how you’re looking at me right now.”

Jon smiled back at him and shifted his hand to curl his fingers around Martin’s palm. “I hope you do too, but even if you forget, I think you and I should still have a very important conversation tomorrow. When we are both sober.”

The smile shifted into a grin as Martin laid back on the cushions and threw his legs over the couch’s arm. “I’d like that very much.”

“I will see you in the morning then.”

“Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

Jon quietly gathered up the scattered garments on his way out of the living room. He shook them out and folded them neatly before closing his bedroom door. He went through his nightly routine in a bit of a haze, and despite how tired he felt, he stared at the ceiling above his bed for a long time, seeing only freckles on pale skin and green eyes looking up at him in a way that made his heart race.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Jon's closet is 100% a projection of my own. The Date is currently in the works, but my job is about to get crazy for the next week or so. It might take a bit longer to get that one up.


End file.
